Sentiments
by Out Toniight
Summary: A collection of unrelated one shots, going through specific emotions of both the good Captain and his charming murderess, at various times. Some will be rated more M than others, be warned. Sparrabeth, various time periods. Read and review, please!


**Author's note**: Jack and 'Lizbeth are most definitely not mine. This one shot takes place post-whelp (Ahem, Dear William) at an undisclosed time, where Jack and Liz have become man and wife. I don't condone the kind of treatment included in this story, so take it easy, ladies and gents. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

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**Sentiments**, part one:_  
Frustration & Guilt  
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There was a look in his eye that, unfortunately, Elizabeth knew all too well, recognizable even from where she sat, at his desk. Stress brewed in his mind, clouding over his already dark orbs, his eyebrows furrowed together overtop of them. He wordlessly entered the room, removing his overcoat and hat, placing them upon the table before allowing his gaze to settle on Elizabeth, who averted hers at that exact moment, nervously. He licked his lips slowly, almost lewdly, as he closed the gap between them, bending down to place a hand on either of her shoulders, leaning in close to her ear.

"V'had a very, very bad day, love," he warned her tensely, drawing in close enough to her that she could practically taste the rum on his breath, the displaced look in his eyes burning into her, even as she turned her head to the side, attempting to avoid it. His hand came up to her chin, making her turn to look at him. She knew what all of this was leading up to, as she had been here, before, frozen to the spot under the touch of a man she tried to convince herself would never hurt her. Truthfully, Jack would never intentionally cause Elizabeth anymore than a spot of pleasurable pain, would never hurt her out of spite or anger with her. There were times, however, that the Captain's frustration with other issues festered so deep within him that he became unknowingly rough with the one thing he prized more than the entire ocean, more than the Pearl, herself.

"Shall we?" He offered her his hand, leading her towards his sleeping quarters once she accepted it. He noticed that twinge of hesitance in her eyes, but knew she'd get passed that. She always had, and likely always would persevere and get over the nervousness he knew she sometimes held when it came to matters of the flesh. Her hand trembled ever so slightly in his, though she obediently followed him, nonetheless. To love, honor, and obey, she'd promised, and it was in precisely these sorts of situations that she had to work hardest to fulfill the latter of these obligations.

"What made it such a terribly hard day for you, darling?" She should have known better than to even have a go at this conversation, but it was at least something, on her part. She loved him, genuinely cared about the man she had chosen to marry, and about the things that he went through, in a day. She knew that captaining a ship and, well, generally being Captain Jack Sparrow was a tiring commitment, and that his mind was often heavily taxed upon. Perhaps that was just his Lizzie's overly sympathetic view on him, but those thoughts were sincere.

"M'not in the mood for conversation, Lizzie-love, savvy?" He informed her, shaking his head swiftly as sat on the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt, with nimble fingers. She nodded, understandingly, as she watched him disrobe, crossing the room to assist him. She untied the red bandanna that held back his deadlocks and haphazard head of hair, letting it all fall loose, only causing him to take on even more of a handsome, roguish appearance. She smiled faintly, taking his shirt as he passed it to her, taking in the familiar sight of his bared skin. She leaned down to kiss him, only to be pulled roughly against his lips, meeting in a bruising kiss rather than the soft one she had in mind. Releasing her from that kiss, his hands moved down a touch, going to the first of several many buttons on her blouse.

"Damned useless buttons," he growled, shaking his head in frustration. "Off with it," he instructed, giving up on undoing the buttons of her shirt after only a moment's worth of failed attempts. He was certainly short on patience that evening, and as was the case every once in a while, she was not looking forward to bearing the brunt of that lack of patience. She did as he wished, though, quickly undoing the front of her blouse, her fingers not having the trouble that his seemed to with the garment. She'd long since grown out of her modesty under Jack's eyes, his fingertips knowing every inch of her skin with great detail, and hers his own. Still, she could not fight the light tremble quaking her body as she stood there, awaiting instruction as to what he wanted from her, this evening. Lizzie was a stallion, submissive to no one… except Jack. Jack, whose eyes could reach the depths of her soul. Jack, who needed her just to give in to him, every once in a while, without fight. Jack, who she would gladly give over control to, moreso than any other person on the face of the earth.

"Yer tremblin'," he noted, more as an observation than anything else, as he guided her down onto the bed, firmly. He hovered over her, licking his lips once more, as he appreciated the look of her. Her pert breasts and flat stomach were more than inviting to the pirate's lustful gaze, that dark want flooding his senses as he looked over her small body. Any other night, he made love to his wife as though she might break, but not on nights such as this one. Not when the primal need burned within him, taking over the patient, caring lover that she knew quite well, in that aspect of their life together. His mouth set to exploring the swell of her chest, roughly but pleasurably, even for her, as his teeth and tongue working in unison to make good on his intent to enjoy her.

And enjoy her, he did. Roughly, thoroughly, and until he could contain himself no longer. The entire lovemaking process was a blur of passionate need, far beyond just desire. He needed the release, the outlet for the tension he'd built over the day, and she was there to provide it for him, as a good wife would be. She did not utter a word of complaint against the crashing, aching way he utilized her body, that evening, the sweat speaking volumes of its own as he collapsed, finished and spent, alongside her, as it ended.

She had not enjoyed it the same way, not in the slightest. Her center ached with every passing moment, though she never let a cry escape her lips. He needed this, needed her to provide him with this, she would remind herself, every few moments, as she staved off the urge to put an end to it. She had reached her own release, though not by the pleasure she did, on a normal occasion. Her body was a treacherous, traitorous thing, and Jack knew precisely how to puppet it to perfection. She rolled onto her side, facing away from him, as the ordeal ended, attempting to hold in the stinging tears that pricked her eyes as she did. They were tears of pain, more than anything, as it seemed that she'd never built up the highest tolerance for that sensation. Beyond that, though she would not admit as much, they were tears of another sort, the same mixed emotion she always felt after occurrences, such as that one.

Jack took his sweet time collecting his breath, normalizing the quickened beat of his heart, as he lay on his back. The little voice on conscience in his mind made him keenly aware of the fact that, whether he had meant to or not, he had hurt his dear Elizabeth, again. It was not the first, nor likely the last time he would do this out of frustration, but an overwhelming guilt washed over him each and every time, replacing the gentle afterglow they normally basked in, together. Heart heavier now than it was, even before, he, too, rolled onto his side, draping an arm over her lithe naked form, drawing her in close.

"Ye know, I love you, 'Lizbeth," he whispered into her ear, his voice much more his own, the soft, sultry tone he often used with her. He did not tell her that as much as he knew she needed to hear it, the words just not on the tip of his tongue like they might have been on some other, softer lover's, as they probably had been, on Will's. He knew she was needy of some things that he would never in a million years be able to give her, not in the capacity which she deserved them. And yet, she'd bound herself to him, forever, for some ungodly reason. Him, over Will. Him, over Norrington. Him, over the rest of the world. Him, who'd only just hurt her in a way he was not sure he could atone for, despite how readily she forgave him. He allowed his fingertips to caress her porcelain cheek, scowling where she could not see him when the pads of his fingers came into contact with the slick warm trails her tears left.

"I know you do, Jack. And I love you," she assured him, glad that he could not see her face. She didn't have the energy to summon to her lips her best forced smile, at that moment. She was physically, as well as emotionally, spent, drowsy and unable to put up any sort of a front to please him, any longer. She merely contented herself with turning to face him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck, where the distinctly Jack scent that he carried with him lingered heavily. Sea salt, rum, sweat, and something else altogether unspecified, all blended into what was the most intoxicating aroma that was her husband's skin. Closing her eyes tightly, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep there, knowing that there was no more conversation to be had, no explanation he could offer, or likely would attempt to, at this point.

It would be what felt like an age before Jack's aching heart and perplexed mind would allow him to get any of the rest she seemed to fall so easily into, however.


End file.
